


Spring in My Step

by hp-rbiim (rbiim)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Draco is much more obvious than he thinks he is, Ficlet, Fluff, Harry has been feeling sad, M/M, Pansy is a good friend, To Draco's tender annoyance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 20:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbiim/pseuds/hp-rbiim
Summary: Harry is in need of more cheer in his life, and sometimes he finds it in the most unexpected of people and places. Or better known as, that one time Draco is yelling in excitement, and Harry catches him doing it.





	Spring in My Step

It hadn’t escaped Harry’s notice that Malfoy had a subdued sort of laugh, like it was shy and unwilling — despite the tug teetering on the edge of his lips. Harry rarely heard it, and had grown fond of the sparse few times that he did.

 

He savored it.

 

Then, there was that one time Harry saw Malfoy actually howl with so much laughter that he was weeping, so much so that Malfoy had to wipe his tears with a single, bony finger. Malfoy was speaking with Parkinson, gesticulating wildly with his hands. He spoke with enough animation that sometimes the coffee table rattled in tandem with the shaken china.

 

Harry, well, Harry had been in his lows. He had found himself spiraling into a deep and heavy listlessness — what, between the wizarding war and his inability to stick to a long-term relationship (to the wizarding world’s much speculated upon disappointment). The PTSD and depression was a slow, crawling, culmination that had sapped his energy, and he was invariably drawn to the cheerfulness Malfoy displayed. Merlin knows he needed a laugh after everything that had happened.

 

Before he realised what he was doing, Harry was walking towards their table in the Ministry cafeteria. He couldn’t help but smile as he sidled up with them, arriving with a bit of a cheery buoy tugging his lips.

 

Seeing Harry arrive at their table, Malfoy froze, promptly shutting down with a flustered expression. Harry’s smile faltered. Parkinson had the glee to look at Harry with a knowing smirk. Or, he thought of the more depressing possibility: she had found his awkward entrance into the conversation —  to Harry’s increasing trepidation —  something laughable.

 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. The sudden silence that had descended upon the table was palpable, Harry waited a few beats before he decides to say something — anything.

 

“Er—” He started.

 

Parkinson interrupted him then, in her silky, sultry, drawling voice, “— Draco, darling, do tell Potter _all_ about our little conversation, hm? Look at him, practically a crup exploding with curiosity.” Harry shifted awkwardly, feeling absolutely mortified for being compared to the muggle equivalent of a puppy. Parkinson didn’t stop there, however. “Don’t lie Potter, you'd like to hear it too, wouldn’t you?”

 

Harry grimaced. Malfoy shot Parkinson a leveling glare, he looked positively uncomfortable retelling Harry anything about the conversation. It could have been an inside joke, and Harry felt like an idiot for intruding. He didn’t want to make it be any more awkward than it already was, so Harry was just about to excuse himself when Parkinson kicked Malfoy in the shin so hard that Malfoy yowled like a kicked kneazle — it startled Harry just long enough to see Malfoy flush heatedly red, all the way to his ears.

 

Malfoy spoke up then, so quiet that Harry was compelled to lean in a little closer to hear the soft words.

 

He was visibly hesitant, Malfoy, as he whispered pathetically, “I was just… regaling Pansy about the highlights of yesterday’s events.” He muttered, gesturing a subdued version of what he was showing Parkinson earlier. “You were most assuredly the shining star of the show, Potter. Had you not shot a jet of water into the rogue giant’s nose, when our hit wizards could barely penetrate the giant’s skin for a decent spell, we would have been chuffed for help. It was truly ingenious of you, Potter.”

 

Warmth tinged Harry’s cheeks, because, yes, he did remember that. He had taken large inspiration from his first year encounter with the troll in the bathroom, although he had decidedly refused to have a repeat of dipping his wand in troll boogers. The warmth didn’t subside as he thought about how Malfoy was howling with laughter and joy — talking about _Harry_ of all people. It made his heart thud a little faster in his chest. Turns out Malfoy didn’t hate him as much as Harry had been led to believe. Why couldn’t he show this level enthusiasm in front of Harry? Merlin, he would have loved a little more laughter in his life.

 

By the end of his summary of the tale, Malfoy had manufactured an unconvincing interest in the Atrium contents, pointedly avoiding Harry’s obvious scrutiny. Malfoy wouldn't look at him. Harry wished he would. So, he did what his gut told him to do.  


 

  
“Draco.” He called Malfoy, for the first time. It came out heated and a little more intimate than he intended to, and he throttled his jacket pocket self-consciously. This did however draw Draco’s attention, his steel grey eyes were wide, pupils blown open. Harry chewed on his lip. They stared at each other for what seemed like infinity before Harry mustered up the courage to ask. “Are you free later tonight?”

 

Harry didn’t like to think about the very possible idea of Draco rejecting the invitation. Parkinson, who was sitting straight now, viciously kicked Draco under the table again. Draco snapped his head at her, gritting his teeth, and returned the kick with even more gusto. Draco and Parkinson battled under the table mercilessly (to which Harry winced, imagining the bruises that would form), until their unspoken argument settled with a final resigned look from Draco to Parkinson’s grinning form.

 

Draco then dropped his steely gaze upon his unfinished sandwich, to then fiddling with his hawthorne wand, rubbing the smooth bark. Harry had the vague impression that he was about to get hexed to bollocks and beyond, that is, before Draco then _did_ look at him, slowly at first (and it was almost, as if… was that a hint of hope?), then with a calculating look. The intent gaze was all it took to root Harry to the spot, but it lasted only for a second before Draco unceremoniously went back to surveying the contents of the atrium casually. Draco’s ears flared heatedly, as he uttered a singular word with the pompousness of a Malfoy — chin tilted slightly up and an arched brow to boot.

 

“...Perhaps.” He said.

 

Harry couldn’t help but snort then, because it was such a _Malfoy_ thing to do. He couldn’t even answer Harry without sounding like an utter ponce. Harry couldn’t help but give a smile — and this time — Draco too, seemed to be unable hide his own lopsided smile.

 

“Don’t be late, Potter.” He said, seeming to have regained his confidence.

 

Harry beamed and replied, “It’s a date.”

 

Draco’s face crumbled back into a flustered state then. Parkinson and Draco start full out kick-boxing under the table. They seem to have advanced to shoving each other on the shoulder now, but were unable to hide their excitement.

 

Harry chuckled and left them to their devices, heading to his cubicle with just a little more spring to his steps.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think Harry struggles a lot with keeping happy, what with everything that has happened to him.  
> Also I love how much Draco tells Pansy about his feelings. Draco is on the losing side of the kick fight, because Pansy is wearing heals. I'm sucker for fluff.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr! Come talk to me! [find me at hp-rbiim](https://hp-rbiim.tumblr.com/)  
> I also love comments!


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